Lullaby
by The Girl In The Hourglass
Summary: Bubbles reflects on her journey into psychosis. Warning: Cannibalism, blood, gore.


Lullaby

She caressed the worn stone of the wall, blood-matted hair clinging to her sweat-soaked, pearly skin. A few thin rags covered her body, and she played with the hem, thinking, not for the first time, that there was nowhere else she'd rather be. She remembered life outside of home, a life of restricting clothes, nasty food, and sharing. She scoffed, leaning against the iron frame of her cot, grinning, teeth stained red with ribbons of flesh poking through the gaps. Her eyes were colorless, yet not blind, the irises a pale silvery-grey. The body of her latest victim lay at her feet, chunks of skin and meat ripped off, a pool of blood surrounding it. She ripped the beings clothes off and shredded them, taking a sharpened rib bone for a needle and haphazardly stitched them to the bottom of her 'dress' with a strand of black hair. She tossed the head that provided the hair back into the pile of corpses from her older kills, platinum hair falling into her eyes as she worked. She'd have to request safety scissors again, filling her quota for this month. She'd used them last time to cut a victim's hair, back when she'd had a thing for blondes. Giggling quietly to herself, she worked herself into a state of exhaustion by playing with the corpses, finding new, intricate ways of putting them together. Using her small lithe frame to lug bodies made an excellent workout.

"Lalalalalala...", she saing quietly to herself, in a voice rarely used, giving one the imagery of a shadow, taking the shape of something beautiful, but without the brightness or colors of it. She curled herself into a ball, her edited hospital gown falling all the way down the foot of her mattress, though she herself only took up roughly a quarter of the space. She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes closing, filthy hair trailing a few inches beneath her decent bust.

"Oh rapture and salvation...", she crooned to the woman before her, a dark grin alighting on her face as she snagged the scissors from her. She dug her uncut, stained nail into the thin plastic protectors, revealing the blades and she hacked around her head, leaving her hair in tattered, chin-length layers. She took the scissors back to the woman, who left the room in a hurry, the metal doors locking behind her. The room fell silent, though she could hear the other 'guests'- here she snorted in derision at the name they'd been given- playing downstairs. She'd been removed from that group due to her tendency of trying to 'eat the other children'. She wouldn't eat any of them. They were far too... sweet, for her palate. She preferred adults, who had strife and agony in their hearts, whose chemicals weren't surging around imbalancedly. She grimaced. Kids and teenagers were disgusting. It wasn't like she even wanted to go outside anyway, except for the mildly entertaining idea of eating a nursemaid during rush hour where everyone could see. She wondered, would the publicity compare to the original press pieces? She remembered the original by heart, it had been so exciting. But the actual memory of the night, well, that surpassed everything.

It had been back when she looked like the perfect angel, all blonde hair and blue eyes. She'd been part of a family of five, with her two sisters, mother, and father. She remembered her sisters. Both of them looked like her and both of them were bitches. She'd been the youngest. Now she was the only one. It had happened on a Sunday. On the way home from church she'd been accosted by her sisters, who had taken her favourite hair clip. It had been given to her by her mother that very day, but when she told, she was given a reprimand to share! She! While her sisters had gone off scot-free! She gave a hateful glare at the thought, one that quickly turned to glee as she kept remembering.

That evening, for family dinner, it was her father's turn to choose. He'd chosen a nice roast from the store, with garlic mashed potatoes and gravy. She watched carefully as her mother cooked it, and had enjoyed watching the process, though the raw meat was much more appealing to her. It smelled of iron. If it were warm and raw, she thought she'd like it more though. It was a delicious dinner, she and her father shared taste. Her sisters started complaining, one that it was too healthy, another that it wasn't healthy enough. She rolled her eyes, picking at it. Suddenly, each of her sisters reached over and grabbed something from her plate. Her eyes flashed, and it was as if a single, solitary burst of insanity filled her system, and she picked up her sisters knives and plunged them into each of their chests, making them badly wounded, but still alive. In a burst of speed she attacked her parents, their dead bodies littering the ground. She kneeled beside the body of her mother, biting down on her leg. Blood spurted into her mouth as she scooped out the flesh, the still warm skin feeling and tasting like joy in her mouth... She ate parts of the bodies, wanting to sample each. Deciding she didn't like her sisters, who screamed, and cried, she went back to the parents, but by then they were cold, and less enjoyable. She'd lived on her own for two days, taking a bath and locking the bodies in the attic, until they'd come for her, wondering why she hadn't been in school, why her parents hadn't come in to work, why her sisters hadn't been to their lame after-school functions. She'd watched in amusement as they searched, and finally, got to the attic.

"We've got four bodies up here!", an officer yelled. "And... oh my god, is that teethmarks?" She chuckled, staring at them all, then turning back to the psychiatrist they'd called in.

"Those 'bodies' were delicious.", she said in the most innocent voice, sweet as candy, with a sharp bite to it. They all turned to look at her, then the next few moments were a victorious haze of restraints and being shoved into a police car.

Though now she was removed from the events of the world, she still remembered their dying screams, the pleading of her sisters. It all echoed around in her head every night, and it was the most comforting sound, the one that put her to sleep, the one that she couldn't live without. It was her own little lullaby in her own small, circle of Hell.


End file.
